


So Many Days

by ClockWrkHeart, Maeleene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Male Slash, Monsters, Swearing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWrkHeart/pseuds/ClockWrkHeart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeleene/pseuds/Maeleene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel awakes, alone and powerless, he's forced to start a new life in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Every small town has its secrets, and Castiel is left to uncover them alone. At least, that's what he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I want to sincerely thank my friend Maeleene for being the beta for this fic for me. Its my first Supernatural fic, and having her help made the whole process go so much more smoothly than if I was alone. Thank you, Maeleene!
> 
> The monster in this story is based off of a two creepy-pastas. You can read them here: 
> 
> http://www.creepypasta.com/stalked/#.UKl8EIYqQmI  
> http://www.creepypasta.com/zasphas/#.UKl8EYYqQmI

**Prologue**

  
           If he’d learned anything since Castiel dragged him out of Hell, it was that nothing was ever over. It never just ended. There was always something else to swoop in and destroy something or everything and it was always him and Sam, him and Bobby, or him and Cas having to clean up the mess. Team Free Will to the rescue or some shit.  So really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when the Leviathan held onto Cas after the angel finally agreed to return the souls to Purgatory.  In that moment, before Cas had shouted at them to run, before everything fell even farther apart, he’d felt relief. Maybe, just maybe, it was over.  
           Haha. Good one, Dean.  
           Still, if you don’t have hope, what have you got? Fat load of nothing, that’s what. So he’d dragged Cas’ coat out of the reservoir, hoping maybe somehow that angel wasn’t dead. He’d dragged Sam back out into hunting, chasing the Leviathan, hoping his shattered psyche would hold up, and he’d enlisted the help of Bobby, hoping the elder hunter would live to see this through to the end.  
           Again, good one, Dean.  
           Sammy was beyond broken, locked up behind padded white walls with a fancy new straight jacket to keep him warm. And Bobby… Bobby shouldn’t have gone out like that, bullet to the head from Dick fucking Roman, leviathan mega boss. He hadn’t even really gone out fighting. He’d gone out retreating with Dean and Sam. And then had to be laid up in the hospital, fightin’ for his life just so he could give them some numbers they’d barely been able to make sense of.  
           That was all past now, though. Dean only had the hope that Cas was alive left. The trench coat was tucked away in his duffle, washed and mended, and don’t you fucking judge.  It moved with him from piece of shit car to piece of shit car, just in case that junkless douche bag decided to show his traitor face sometime soon. If he was even alive…  
           So yeah, Dean realized it didn’t make that much sense, dragging the jacket around, hoping Cas was alive—after all, he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t break his fist on the angel’s face when he showed up again. Still, he knew the Cas he trusted was still in there somewhere. He’d seen it in the moments Cas had begged him to run before the Leviathan took him over. Didn’t mean Dean had forgiven him yet, but at least he was willing to try.  
           Not that he’d really get the chance. Dean Winchester was heading to his death.  At least there wasn’t anyone left to miss him when he was gone.  
           Dean squared his shoulders and stared up at the bright and active Sucrocorp building. Somewhere inside they had the Prophet Kevin held hostage and, of course, Dean had convinced himself it was his fault. So now he was going up against Dick Roman, the Leviathan that killed Bobby and destroyed Cas, with nothing but a demon he didn’t trust and a fancy, blood-soaked bone. If he thought too much about it, he’d start to dwell on how bad an idea this probably was. After all, he didn’t actually trust Crowley had given him his own blood and _not_ the blood of some lesser demon like Dick had made a deal for. And he didn’t even want to know how Meg had gotten her demonic little hands on angel blood. So yeah, there was _no_ way this could go wrong. None at _all_.  
           Glancing at the brunette meat-suit Meg was wearing, he felt momentarily guilty that the girl she was wearing would probably die with him tonight, while Meg would just find some other poor sap to ride around. It is what it is, though. She was the only back-up he had left, shitty as that was. So he pushed that guilt to the back of his mind with the rest of the massive amounts of guilt he had stored there and jerked his head toward the building.  
           “Ready?”  
           Meg gave a light snort, as if it was a stupid question. “Whenever you are, o’ fearless leader.”  
           Dean cut her a sharp, tired glare, but started forward anyway. He hoped Sammy would forgive him for dying before fixing his busted melon. That is, if Sammy was ever sane again. It’s not like he’d chosen to stop the Leviathan over saving Sam, he’d just run out of options to help his brother.  This was all he had left to do. All he could do. Saving the world by boning Dick Roman seemed small and unimportant in comparison to fixing his brother, but you take what you can get.  
           And, he decided as they drew closer to the entrance, and his probable death, if Cas was waiting wherever Dean ended up, he was gonna find him and bash his face in. Just for good measure.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel awakes, alone and powerless, he's forced to start a new life in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Every small town has its secrets, and Castiel is left to uncover them alone. At least, that's what he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely thank my friend Maeleene for being the beta for this fic for me. Its my first Supernatural fic, and having her help made the whole process go so much more smoothly than if I was alone. Thank you, Maeleene!
> 
> The monster in this story is based off of a two creepy-pastas. You can read them here:
> 
> http://www.creepypasta.com/stalked/#.UKl8EIYqQmI  
> http://www.creepypasta.com/zasphas/#.UKl8EYYqQmI

**Chapter One**

           An electric shock ripped through him, causing his body to convulse and thrash, fingers gripping and twisting the fabric under them. He tried to cry out but something stopped him, clogging his throat and causing him to gag, yet somehow not stopping his breathing. Opening his eyes, he was assaulted by blinking lights; harsh alarms and beeps met his ears as he became more and more coherent by the moment.

           Desperately, he raised his hands to his mouth, trying to claw the offending device out of his throat. Even as he struggled, alarmed voices rose around him and the lights for the room finally turned on as two young men in light green rushed into the room, grabbing his arms and pulling his hands away from his face. He tried to struggle against them but they were far stronger than he was in his still disoriented state.

           “Sir, please calm down!” a dark hair, dark-eyed woman in a white coat commanded, calm but her tone barring no argument.

           He fell still as she leaned over him, commanding him to swallow. It seemed a strange command, with the tube that seemed to be preventing him from doing so. Still, he tried, swallowing once, twice, three times as her deft fingers unhooked the ties holding it in place and guided the endotracheal tube out of his mouth. He stared at her, gasping for air that had never really been denied him.

           Finally, his mind seemed to start working again. _Hospital_ , it told him, _nurses, doctor, breathing apparatus_.  He watched as the doctor whispered something to one of the nurses who then hurried out of the room. The other nurse stood by his bed, awaiting instruction from the doctor who was calmly flipping through the chart at his feet. Native American, his mind informed him of the doctor, as if that mattered at all. Still, at least he was processing information.

           “Mr. Novak, my name is Dr. Kim Draper. You’re in the hospital, Mr. Novak. Do you understand?” She explained, eyeing him as if she wasn’t sure what response she’d get.

           “Yes,” he responded, voice weak and raspy from lack of use. “I understand.”

           She nodded and sighed, pushing her glasses up to nest in her rich black hair, and he realized for the first time how tired she looked. “This may be hard to hear, Mr. Novak, but you’ve been in vegetative state for the past year. There is… There is no logical reason for you to be awake. It should be impossible.”

           He tilted his head, regarding her coolly. “Why bother to keep me alive then?”

           She looked slightly taken aback by his question. “We don’t make those decisions, Mr. Novak. Your family does. Your wife requested life support. You will have to ask her why, if you want to know. Now, please excuse me for a moment.”

           The other male nurse had returned and was speaking quietly with the doctor, but he could still catch pieces of their conversation. This Dr. Draper was not the one assigned to him originally. He’d been under a Dr. Masters, but he or she was now missing, having not reported to work for several days. That was the least of their concerns, it seemed, as the doctor ordered one nurse to have him signed up for something called a CT Scan and something else called an MRI. His bedside companion was instructed to get “manual readings” of his vitals, and test his memory and cognitive functions. The doctor excused herself, leaving him with what he supposed was meant to be comforting news that his wife was on the way. He wasn’t sure he could really face Amelia though.

           “Hi, Jimmy,” the young nurse said soothingly. “I’m Shaun. I’m gonna take some readings here, so just relax.”

           So he did, or tried to, letting the Shaun take his pulse, listen to his breathing, check his blood pressure. He knew the things Shaun was doing because the nurse told him, as if talking to a child. Maybe they were worried he’d woken up with permanent brain damage? He assumed that was the case because there was no way they knew why he was unfamiliar with what went on in hospitals.

           Finally, Shaun took the chair by the bed to begin asking him questions. He asked if he remembered his wife, his daughter, his home town. Of course he knew all these things and answered them easily. The hard questions were how he got here, what was the last thing he remembered? They weren’t hard because he didn’t remember; they were hard because he had to come up with lies. He’d gotten fairly good at that, though.

           “I argued with my friend. I left him in a rage, wanting to get away from him before I did something I would regret. I remember seeing black, perhaps a representation of my rage. I remember nothing after that,” he explained calmly.

           Shaun eyed him oddly, but took down notes anyway. “Thank you, Jimmy. That will be all for now,” he said, glancing up. “Looks like your wife is here.” He nodded toward the door.

           Amelia eyed him coolly. He looked away from her, ashamed, as Shaun explained what was happening to her. She barely seemed to listen to him, and he left the room looking slightly concerned and more than a little confused. Amelia situated herself in the chair beside the bed and they sat in silence for a good while before he finally spoke.

           “I... am not Jimmy.”

           “I know that. I’m not stupid,” she said crossly. “I tried contacting the Winchesters to come and deal with this when they first called me to identify you. I tried again when they said you woke up.” She shook her head.

           “The Winchesters will want nothing to do with me. I have wronged them, as much or more than I have wronged you.”

           She snorted. “I don’t want much to do with you either, for the record. But you’re still wearing my husband’s face, so I can’t just abandon you.”

           “Thank you for that.”

           “Is Jimmy dead?”

           He swallowed hard. He didn’t really know what happened to Jimmy. He’d been alone in the vessel since he’d been resurrected when Sam fell into the pit. Amelia didn’t need to know that though. So he lied. “Jimmy is in heaven, as promised for his role in this ordeal.”

            “Why does he have to be dead while you’re still here?” she demanded, angry but not raising her voice.

           “Amelia, I don’t wish for it to be like this. I would give him back to you if I could,” he said, pleading with her to understand. “He deserves to live a full and happy life. I deserve to be dead.”

           They sat in painful silence until Shaun and the other nurse returned to take him for his testing. Amelia did not bother to watch him go, though he watched her as they wheeled him out of the room. Guilt weighed heavy on him, heavier than it ever had before. He wanted to get away from this place, away from these people, especially Amelia and her accusing stare.

           He could just flit away, he realized. There was nothing forcing him to stay here.  The time he spent trapped somewhere in the back of his own brain dead mind must have made him momentarily forget that he was an angel. He could get out of here, away from the white walls, the antiseptic smell, and Amelia’s cold eyes. All he had to do was stretch his ethereal wings, call up his grace and… and… it was _gone_. There were no wings for him to stretch, no grace for him to call on.

           He went through the tests and scans numb, doing as he was asked without ever really being aware of it. He had fallen. He was empty. There was no grace left in his vessel—no, his body. And it was his now, because Castiel was human.

           Which was going to make things far more difficult than he really wanted to deal with, although he’d never confess that to Amelia. Not after she made sure Jimmy’s insurance paid his hospital stay, Jimmy’s credit cards were active for him, and that he had access to Jimmy’s private “someday” savings account. It wasn’t Claire’s college fund—she’d made sure he was aware that no one was ever touching that. Not that he’d have asked. He didn’t ask for _any_ of this, but Amelia helped him all the same. Helped him get out of her life, hopefully for good.

           “You have done too much for me already, Amelia.”

           “I know,” she responded with a sigh, forcing the duffle bag into his arms. “But I can’t just abandon you outright. I’m just trying to see it as if you’re Jimmy’s long lost twin brother. I have to help you, you’re family, but Claire cannot see you.  She can’t know about you, nothing.”

           That’s when she shoved the tickets into his hand, and he took them without reluctance. “I understand.”

           “Your flight is in an hour, I’ve arranged for a taxi to take you to the house when you land. Can you figure things out from here, Castiel?”

           “I am sure I will manage fine. Thank you,” he said, trying his hardest to sound sincere. He thought it may have come off a little terrified. Amelia didn’t seem to notice though.

           “Good. I sent a care package a few days ago. It should be waiting. It will have to do until you figure out… well, everything. You can call me, if you have to, but if Claire answers—”

           “Hang up, do not speak to her. I understand, Amelia.”

           “Right. Right…”

           She was starting to sound impatient, so Castiel thanked her again, promising not to disturb her life a third time, and made his way to the security line for his “flight.” And yes, in his head, he put quotations around it. Sitting in a chair in some giant metal contraption wasn’t flying. Though Dean probably would have argued otherwise.

           Dean…

           He pushed the name—and the face it called up—out of his mind and tried to focus on the task at hand. Shoes off, empty pockets, bag on the scanner, jacket off, step through. Okay, clear, reverse steps. Locate terminal. Wrong terminal. Try again. Sit, wait. Alone since the first time he’d woken up three weeks and two days ago. But who’s counting?

           Sighing, he dragged the cell phone Amelia had provided out of his pocket. She claimed it had all the numbers his old one, long dead from water exposure, had once contained. Of course, it was new—and more complicated—and  he had to be overly gentle as he poked at the screen , but he finally pulled up a list of contacts. Bobby, Dean, Dean’s Other Phone, Dean’s Other Other Phone, Jimmy’s Wife, Sam. He tapped a button a few times and finally made his way back to the home screen. He could call Dean. Tell Dean he was alive. Apologize, ask to be included in the hunt for the Leviathans he was sure Dean was taking part in.

           But they had not parted friends. Castiel couldn’t fix Sam, couldn’t smite demons or transport the Winchesters to any destination, place, or time they needed. He was human and he was useless. His being alive was just a reminder of how cruel and spiteful his father could be. Let him nearly break the world, only to bring him back unable to aid in its fixing. He snorted darkly and without humor, shaking his head and closed his eyes to wait for his “flight.”

           Which was miserable, truth be told, but he didn’t tell the cab driver that. No reason to bother the poor man with it. Still, he’d been stuck between a man who kept trying to convince him to buy a timeshare (whatever that was) in Hawaii and a man with flight sickness. Of course the sick man was in the window seat. Castiel considered himself lucky not to have been puked on. He assumed that would not be easy to clean, now that he was lacking his “angel mojo.”

           When the taxi finally pulled to a stop at the end of a slightly overgrown dirt road, Castiel paid the driver, tipping probably more than was necessary, and dragged his bag out of the back seat with him. He was left standing alone, staring up at the forgotten little house Jimmy Novak had inherited from his grandmother on his father’s side. He adjusted the duffle on his shoulder and trudged up the dirt driveway, trying his hardest to take in everything at once about his new home.

           It wasn’t in too bad of shape. Amelia had mentioned the neighbor was a close family friend, and he helped take care of the house in exchange for access to the well for watering his garden and lawn and being allowed to use the cellar as storage for any canning his wife decided to do. So the grass was slightly over grown and the road looked like it hadn’t been used in a long time, but the house appeared in good shape—no shingles falling off, no paint chipping, and no visible broken steps or tears in the screened doors and porch. Castiel tilted his head, studying it all, and wondering vaguely what it was going to be like, trying to teach himself to be human in this small, rural town.

           “Hey, Jimmy!”

           Castiel stiffened, his hand tightening on the strap of his duffle. Taking a silent deep breath, he turned to face the source of the voice. The man was probably older than he was, or Jimmy had been, with salt and pepper streaks in his dark hair. He had the rough, tanned look of one who spent significant time in the sun. At least he seemed friendly enough, beaming at Castiel with his arms crossed over the top of the fencing that separated their yards. Castiel attempted a smile back, hoping it didn’t look horribly forced, and approached the fence.

           “Good afternoon, uhh…”

           The man’s smile slipped a little, concern appearing in his green eyes. Green. Dean had green eyes, but this man’s were not like Dean’s. Castiel shifted his gaze away, ashamed that he did not know this man’s name.

           “Mike. Mike Hale. It hasn’t been _that_ long since we’ve seen each other Jimmy, six years at the most.”

           “My apologies, Mike. I, uh....” What was the lie he’d worked out with Amelia? “I had an accident. My memory of anything outside of the past four years is… lacking.”

           “Damn, Jimmy. Sorry, I had no idea.”

           Castiel gave a dismissive shake of his head. “It is not of- or, uh... It’s not a big deal. I’ve come to terms with it, I suppose. Mike, thank you, for taking such good care of the place for my family.”

           It was Mike’s turn to make a dismissive gesture, a slight wave of the hand. “S’what neighbors do, Jim. Say, Amelia and Claire with you?”

           “Oh, uh, no. After my accident, things were not well with us. We will not be seeing much of each other.”

           “That’s for the better.”

           The statement caught Castiel off guard. He tilted his head at Mike, trying to understand the meaning of his words. Was there strife he hadn’t know about between Jimmy and Amelia? Did this man have something against Jimmy’s spouse? The man’s demeanor, briefly nervous, indicated that it was something else. Something unrelated to Jimmy’s relationship with his family.

           “Is something wrong?” Castiel asked, wondering what might set the man on edge.

           “Just paranoid, a little, ‘cause I have kids of my own. But I guess it’s best you know. Three kids have disappeared in the past six months. One body turned up, but, well, there wasn’t much left. No one really knows if it was one of the kids or if it was just an animal. No fancy testing done or anything, not that I know of.”

           The man raked a hand through his hair, eyeing the forest behind their homes for a moment. His gazed slipped to the house on the other side of Jimmy’s. A smaller, old woman was watering flowers along her front walk. She waved, and they both gave her a gentle wave in return before Mike turned his attention back to Castiel.

           “Poor Jesse found what was left of the body in the creek where it runs across her yard. Stuck on that little bridge she’s got to cross it.” He shook his head. “Most folks don’t think much of it. Freak occurrence or something. Makes me nervous though, Jim. I just wouldn’t have Claire visit for a while. Anything else happens here, I’m sending the kids to stay with their aunt up North.”

           Castiel was about to ask if anyone from the FBI had been in town, sensing how it might strike a hunter’s interest, when a woman stuck her head out of the front of Mike’s porch and summoned him for dinner. He gave Castiel that beaming smile again, promising to bring some beer around for a chat soon and bid him good night. Castiel watched the family for a moment before shifting the duffle he’d nearly forgotten and heading into the house that was now his for the first time.

           Castiel slept in a pile of dusty blankets on the floor the first night. It had been a long day and he really couldn’t be bothered to pull the dust covers off the furniture. It was cold and uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. The next day was better though, waking to Mike and Marie inviting him over for breakfast; bacon, eggs, homemade biscuits. Even fresh juice. It was wonderful, and Castiel found himself already glad to have these people nearby. Even their young twins, Annie and Andy, were wonderful—polite, well-mannered and kind.

           The next several days were spent with the Hale family, actually. He’d have breakfast with them, help Mike get the garden and lawn watered, and then Marie would come over and help him dust and organize and essentially make the house livable again. He’d eat dinner by himself or sometimes with the little old woman, Jesse, next door after helping her take feed and water to the pony she kept for her granddaughters. Really, it felt exceptionally normal. Simple and routine. And he didn’t mind that at all. In fact, he’d nearly forgotten the warning Mike had given him on the strange occurrences until his phone rang late one night.

           “Jesse, is everything alright? You are calling rather late,” he grumbled, trying to be polite and still not wake up entirely.

           “Yes, yes, everything is okay.. It’s just… I think one of the neighbors dogs might be in my yard, Jimmy. I just got a little glance at it, but it was… big and white. Would you mind taking a look for me? It looked to be a bit too big for me to take home,” her constantly tired voice pleaded over the phone.

           “Of course, Jesse. I am happy to help. Just, hold on for one moment please.”

           He dragged himself up off the sofa with a stretch. He never slept in the bed—it had belonged to Jimmy’s grandparents and made him feel like an intruder here. Shrugging into jogging pants and t-shirt, he wondered who had a large, white dog nearby. He’d met most of the neighbors and couldn’t remember any pets that fit the description. Still, he snatched the phone back up and headed out into his yard via the back door, facing  out towards Jesse’s home.

           And there it was, whatever it was. It was not a dog. Actually, even with what remained of his angelic knowledge, he had no idea what it was. But he knew immediately it was what was taking the children. A shaking hand rose the phone back up to his ear.

           “It’s… It’s not a dog, Jesse. It’s some wild animal. It is best you stay inside tonight. If you need anything from outside, please allow me to get it for you. Don’t go outside. Don’t even open the door.”

           “Jimmy? I don’t understand.”

           “It’s not safe, Jesse. Please, do not go outside.”

           And with that he hung up, hoping the kind old woman heeded his warning. The thing, it stared at him intently, as if it knew he’d believe what he was seeing where others would not. It looked like a too-large man on all fours, except its limbs were too long, too thin and bent the wrong way. It looked like it had its two arms on the ground, holding itself up, and  two more, slightly higher, long, unnatural and holding something Castiel couldn’t —or didn’t—want to make out. What he couldn’t look away from, though, was its _face_. Turned up unnaturally, chin towards the sky, black and sunken eyes, two slits for a nose. The mouth was at the top of the head, and as Castiel’s hand tensed around the phone, the thing smiled at him, grotesque and horrifying thing, rows upon rows of jagged teeth, like a shark. And even though it was upside down, Castiel _knew_ it was a smile, and it _terrified_ him.

           He was back inside and bolting the door before he thought about it. Trembling hands whipped his phone up and began searching. He called the first hunter he got to in his list. Bobby. Bobby would send Dean and Sam. They’d kill this thing. Annie and Andy and Jesse, Mike and Marie, they’d all be safe. He _just_ needed Dean and Sam.

           “How’d you get this number?” an unfamiliar voice demanded, though not nearly intimidating enough.

           “Let me speak with Bobby Singer, immediately,” Castiel demanded in return.

           “He’s dead. Who is this?”

           Castiel felt his throat tighten. Bobby, dead. And it was probably his fault, somehow. But he didn’t have time for that. “Then I will call Dean Winchester.”

           “Dean’s dead too. Who the hell is this?”

           “Jimmy Novak,” and he could hear the empty numbness in his voice as he spoke. Dean wasn’t dead. This man was lying. Dean would know the name Jimmy Novak and know what it meant. “Is Dean with you? Let me speak with him.”

           “Look, Dean’s dead, man. I don’t know who you are, either. How’d you get this number? Are you a hunter? Do you need a hunter? Hey, answer me.”

           “Sam?” he asked, hearing his own voice break slightly.

           “Looney bin. Look, man-“

           But Castiel was done. He hung up on the man without bothering to find out who he was. He stood rooted to the spot as the world crumbling around him. Bobby was dead, Dean was dead, and Sam’s broken mind had him locked up in a sanitarium. And then there was him. Castiel, human, clueless, and terrified. That ungodly thing out there was going to kill more innocent people _, children_ , and Castiel was alone.

           He sat in a numb daze for longer than he’d ever admit, but finally brought his phone back out. Dean couldn’t be dead. It was a cover story. He’d call Dean’s Other Other Phone, the one few people had the number for. Dean would know it was important. He’d answer. He’d come to help. Because Dean Winchester wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead while Castiel was still alive. That would the ultimate in cruelty on his father’s, on God’s, behalf. No one was that cruel. Not even God.

           “This is Dean’s other, other cell, so you must know what to do.”

           Castiel didn’t actually hear himself sob, he just pressed his forehead against the phone, hands shaking as he gripped it. He didn’t feel his shoulders shaking. He didn’t hear himself saying Dean’s name. Pleading with him to not be dead. _Please don’t be dead_. Please. It was more than he could take and for the first time since waking up in the hospital, Castiel truly believed that _he_ was the one who should be dead.

           After that, whenever his phone let out a chirp, he prayed it was Dean. It never was. Days passed, weeks passed, and the _thing_ didn’t come back. No children went missing. He started to wonder if he was just seeing things, his half-asleep mind playing tricks on him. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was real. That the _thing_ was dangerous. So he had Mike take him into town to the local hardware store. He said it was for hunting, in case he decides to try it, and that’s partially true. Mike believed him, offered to take him out sometime to practice shooting. He went home with fairly basic pistol, a machete like he remembered Dean carrying, and plenty of extra ammo. And he took Mike up on his offer to teach him to shoot.

           They were sitting on Castiel’s, or really, Jimmy’, back porch after a day of cutting wood and target practice, drinking cheap beer and talking about nothing, when they both saw it.

Castiel was just mentioning how “his friend” would be shocked to see him now, sitting around, drinking beer, being normal, and Mike was laughing and reminding him he’d always been way too normal when the laughter suddenly stopped. Castiel followed Mike’s gaze, confused at first, until he saw it too. And then he knew why Mike was turning white as a sheet, why he looked frozen to the spot.

           The _thing_ was making its way across Castiel’s yard, no regard for them at all. Like it wanted them to see it. It was slow, like it was stalking something. And Castiel realized it was. Annie was in Mike’s backyard, taking down some sheets they’d hung out to dry earlier. Mike was still frozen, mouth moving but nothing coming out. Castiel had to act. He shouted to startle it, but it didn’t startle at all, just kept  moving. Annie noticed him though, noticed it. And she screamed and he screamed for her to run. And he grabbed his gun, launching himself over the railing of the porch, heading for it, for Annie, whichever he can get to first. The _thing_ smiled at him. Upside down, jagged teeth, and he felt that same sickening terror.

           It was fast, when it started to run, or rather, gallop. The second it was done smiling at him, it took off for Annie and she never stood a chance to get away. He fired at it, knew he hit it, but it didn’t slow down. It scooped the girl up in its freakish arms and she was instantly limp. Castiel ran after it anyway, even after it disappeared into the woods. He yelled back, yelling at Mike. Just hoping the man heard him. Hoping the past several weeks have been a lie.

           “CALL DEAN. CALL DEAN WINCHESTER.”


	3. Interlude One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel awakes, alone and powerless, he's forced to start a new life in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Every small town has its secrets, and Castiel is left to uncover them alone. At least, that's what he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely thank my friend Maeleene for being the beta for this fic for me. Its my first Supernatural fic, and having her help made the whole process go so much more smoothly than if I was alone. Thank you, Maeleene!
> 
> The monster in this story is based off of a two creepy-pastas. You can read them here:
> 
> http://www.creepypasta.com/stalked/#.UKl8EIYqQmI  
> http://www.creepypasta.com/zasphas/#.UKl8EYYqQmI

**Interlude  One**

  
  


           “How long are you planning to mope around?” Garth asked, shoving his feet off the end of the sofa so he could sit down.

           The other man glared at him and said nothing, turning his attention back to Dr. Sexy. He’d drank nearly an entire bottle of Jack today, and he was in no mood for Garth’s peppy, get-back-out-there speech. He was done. He’d given enough. He’d said it ‘til his throat was sore. And that’s why, when people called for him, Garth would tell them that Dean Winchester was dead.

           But Garth was apparently feeling pushy , having too much down time while he tried to handle the things Bobby used to take care of. Dean glared harder at him as the tiny man shoved a cell phone at him. Dean knew it was his, he just didn’t care.

           “Look, the same number keeps calling. It calls nearly every day. You’ve got like ten voicemails from this guy. I even talked to him once, when he called looking for Bobby, or you, or Sam.” Dean snorted at him, indicating the lack of fucks he gave. Until Garth continued. “I think he said his name was Timmy… Novak?”

           “ _Jimmy_ Novak?” Dean demanded, and his voice didn’t shake as he said it. No it fucking didn’t.

           “Oh yeah, that was it!” Garth declared as the cell phone was ripped from his hand.

           The idiot hunter was right. There were ten voicemails waiting for Dean. He ignored Garth’s chatter and exited the room quickly, only staggering a little as he made his way outside, forcing his fingers to work well enough to dial his voicemail. He held the phone out in front of him, not really looking at it as he let the speakerphone play his messages.

            _October 19th, 10:53 p.m._ , his voicemail informed him. And his heart felt like it stopped beating in his chest when he heard a familiar voice sob his name. “Dean. Dean, this isn’t _right_. You can’t actually be dead. Please, Dean. I need to know you’re alive. I need to know that God isn’t that cruel. You can’t be dead, Dean. Please. _Please._ ”

            _October 25th, 12:34 p.m._ “Dean, I don’t even know why I am calling. I know you aren’t going to answer, but I can still hope. There’s something wrong here. And I don’t mean that you are dead, and I am alive, though that is also wrong. I mean here, where I am living. I thought I imagined it. Lack of sleep, or maybe I even dreamed it. Dreams can feel so real. But something still feels wrong, Dean. I don’t know what to do. You would know what to do, though. I know you would.”

            _October 31st, 8:00 p.m._ “Happy Halloween, Dean. I bought a gun today. If that thing is really out there, I am going to stop it. I do not know what exactly it is, but I won’t let it hurt anyone else.”

            _November 2nd, 9:12 p.m._ “Thish ish stupid…  ’m shuch an idiot…”

            _November 3rd, 11:10 a.m._ “I thought you would most likely find it funny that I managed to… drunk dial... you last night. You’d laugh at me, if you could. Maybe you are laughing at me from Heaven.” Silence. “If you are not in heaven, God is more of an… asshole... than I imagined.”

            _November 7th, 3:05 p.m._ “Jesse made apple pie. She’s a kind, old crone who lives in the house next to mine. She has her own apple trees. It was delicious, Dean. I put some in the freezer. I don’t know why. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time. I told her I wanted to save it for a friend. Maybe he would visit some day. I didn’t want her to know my only friend is actually dead.”

            _November 11th, 9:15 a.m._ “I think it’s snowing. I like it. It makes me feel at peace.”

            _November 13th, 7:09 p.m._ “Jesse made pumpkin pie. The pumpkins were home grown. She makes wonderful pies, Dean. I put some of this one in the freezer as well. I told her about you. A little. She wants to meet you, when you are able to visit. She hopes you’ll come for the holidays. She says she makes pecan pie for Christmas. I’ve gotten very good at lying.”

            _November 15th, 10:19 a.m._ “I shoveled snow today. Mike says it’s early for snow, especially enough to need to shovel. I still like it, even if it’s cold and wet. Annie tried to convince me to try the ‘lemon snow.’ I am not that foolish.”

            _November 17th, 4:11 p.m._ “I miss you, Dean. Everything is my fault. It doesn’t matter now, but I never wanted this. I’m sorry.”

            Dean didn’t delete any of the messages. He listened to them over and over, sitting outside, sobering up more quickly than he’d like. It sounded like Cas. Most of the time anyway, but sometimes it was just too normal. Maybe Cas picked up some of Jimmy’s traits. Or worse, Jimmy picked up some of Cas’. Maybe it’d been so long, you couldn’t tell where Jimmy stopped and Cas started and something about that made Dean very uncomfortable.

            After the third play through of his messages, it finally hit him. Cas, or Jimmy? No, no, it has to be Jimmy. Dean wouldn’t be lucky enough for it to be Cas. Even if it sounds like Cas, talks like Cas, it can’t be Cas. But Jimmy said something about a _thing._ Something he intended to shoot if it came back around. Jimmy’d called for Bobby. Cas—Jimmy—needed a hunter.

            “ _GARTH_ ,” Dean commanded, barging back into the living room. “Where’d this Jimmy Novak call from? He give you an address or anything? Say what he needed?”

 

           Garth  looked up from Dr. Sexy, making a stupid, almost pained ‘deep in thought’ face. “Sorry. Nope and nope. Just demanded Bobby, then you, then Sam.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV.

            “Son of a bitch,” Dean swore, trying to summon the self control not to throttle Garth on the spot. “Track his number, find his address. _Now,_ Garth.”

            Garth rolled his eyes but got to his feet anyway. “Why don’t you just call him back?”

            “He’s not stupid enough to believe it’s me unless I show up and give him proof.  Now, hop to it. I wanna be on the road by dark.”

            It didn’t take a lot of string pulling to find out where Jimmy had called from. Some little town in Virginia. It hadn’t been very hard to find out the names of Jimmy’s grandparents, then the location of the little house he’d inherited. Dean had never heard of Spout Springs, but it sounded like a little old town with more than its share of spooky shit. So he packed the Impala with everything he might need for an all-out hunt. With the sun setting, he set out from Bobby’s, aiming to get to Jimmy in two days or less, depending on how little sleep he could run on.

            He made it to Illinois before he got too tired to keep driving, stopping at a little motel right off I-74. It wasn’t the worst motel he’d ever stayed in, but it wasn’t the best either. The bed was a rock and the sheets smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke, and every time Dean closed his eyes, Cas’ face swam before him, sneering, oozing black ick.

            “ _Cas is –he’s gone. He’s dead. We run the show now.”_

            “ _This is going to be so much fun.”_

            Eventually, after digging his palms into his eyes, trying to force the images away, Dean dragged himself out of bed with two, maybe three restless, fit-filled hours of sleep. It was enough, though, combined with enough coffee for six people. He was back on the road just after midday. He could make it without stopping again, he kept telling himself. He’d sleep at Jimmy’s. No point in fooling himself into thinking he’d manage any better than he had the night before until he _knew_ it wasn’t Cas. But it couldn’t be Cas. No matter how much it sounded like him. And he kept telling himself that.

            Dean was six hours out, or so he told himself, when his phone went off. He glanced at it but the number wasn’t one he’d seen before. Technically, he was still retired so he opted not to answer it and let it go to voicemail. The caller had other ideas, though. The same number showed up three more times in fifteen minutes before Dean finally snatched his phone off the passenger seat and answered it.

            “Yeah, _what?_ ”

            “Dean Winchester?”

            “Depends on who’s asking.”

            “My name is Mike. Jimmy Novak is my neighbor. I think Jimmy’s in big trouble.”

            Mike went on to tell Dean about the _thing_ and the missing children from the past year. His account ended with Jimmy chasing after it. He reported that Jimmy had been gone for about an hour now. They hadn’t looked for him. They hadn’t called the cops. No one knew what the hell to do or what was going on. Trying to keep a tight rein on his anger, Dean told Mike to get inside and keep his kid close. He was on his way. He’d be there as fast as he could.

            When the call disconnected, Dean launched his phone into the other seat, slamming his fists on the Impala’s steering wheel. That _idiot_. Jimmy, Cas, who-the-fuck-ever, was clearly just a human now. Otherwise this wouldn’t be a fucking problem. What was the idiot gonna do? He’d never _really_ hunted anything! And now he was going after something Dean had never even fucking heard of.

            “Son of a bitch!” Dean swore and pushed the Impala’s pedal to the floor, promising her a gentler trip on the way home.

            He made it in four hours, sliding into the dirt driveway of Jimmy’s house and kicking up more dust than acceptable in polite company. That was the least of his concerns as he climbed out of the car and popped the trunk. He didn’t bother to look up as he heard someone exit the house next door. He could only take what he could carry and he had no idea what would work on this thing. So he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants, a silver knife into his boot, strapped his machete to his waist and grabbed his sawed off. Bringing the trunk down, he finally turned his attention to the man standing a few feet away.

         “Which way?” he demanded tersely, snatching the flashlight the man offered out of his hand. Mike pointed helplessly and Dean nodded. “Get inside. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. Password is ‘apple pie.’”

            With that, Dean stomped off toward the tree line, using the flashlight to avoid any holes or random tree branches. It was a new moon--of _course_ it was fucking new moon--but sunrise was just a few hours off. That meant Jimmy, or Cas...? No. Jimmy. _Jimmy_ had been gone for at least five hours. Five hours alone in some hillbilly backwoods with some freakish, child-eating monster he had no idea how to kill or even hunt. Awesome.

            Dean told himself he’d been in worse situations, and that was the truth. He’d faced the apocalypse and lived to tell the tale, somehow. So he could do this. He could beat this thing. The question was, could Jimmy survive long enough for Dean to find him and save his stupid self-sacrificing ass?

            The woods were darker than he imagined they’d be, and even with the flashlight, he found himself tripping and stumbling over rocks and roots and broken branches. Still, he kept the light up at eye level, constantly scanning in front and behind. Maybe he’d admit that he was a little rusty. Maybe if he hadn’t been laying about doing jack shit since offing Dick Roman, he might not be stumbling over his own feet. Or maybe if he could stop thinking about Cas.…

            The sun was finally starting to come up when Dean had to stop and clear his head. He hadn’t worn a watch so he could only guess he’d been stumbling about in the woods for two, maybe two and half hours. He’d been looking for any sign that something big had been around, or someone other than him had stumbled through, but there had been nothing, and hell--he could have been going in circles. He’d thought he’d found something at one point, hearing twigs and branches snap, but he’d only stumbled on some deer that had nearly run him down to get away.

            Shutting off the flashlight, he tucked it into his belt and tugged his pistol out of the back of his jeans. With the sun rising he was willing to be more reckless. From what Mike had said, how the thing fucking smiled at them, it wanted a challenge, and Dean was willing to give it one.

            “Jimmy! Jimmy, you out here?!” he called, weaving his way more easily through the trees and brush as light filtered through the forest. “Like eating kids, you fucking monster?! Come get something more your own size!”

            Only his voice echoed back at him, and he growled in frustration. He knew he could find this thing. He _had_ to find this thing. It had Jimmy, and it had Mike’s little girl, and how many other kids it had killed? No one fucking knew, and Dean Winchester wasn’t about to let it go, to give up. So he walked on, gun at the ready, calling out to Jimmy, calling out to Annie, and calling out to whatever the hell the thing was.

            He could feel exhaustion starting to set in by the time it was fully light out, bright but still cold. The clouds he could see through the tree branches above said snow was on the way. He thought back to the messages on his phone. Cas had said he liked snow. Dean shook his head. No. _Jimmy_ liked snow. Because he wouldn’t be out here if it was Cas. Cas would have angel mojoed this piece of shit to oblivion and zapped back to the house with a perfectly healed little girl.

            He was leaning against a tree, digging his palms into his eyes for clarity when he heard the rush of breaking branches. Just a few at first, like something moving fast and low through the trees. And then something big--big enough to snap branches off trees and have the sounds echoing around him. Bracing himself, he turned his gun toward the sounds, coming from the west, just past the creek he’d recently crossed and been trying to stay near so he didn’t get completely lost.

         Jimmy burst through the thick tree line on the other side of the creek, a dense patch of branches and bramble that looked out of place, but Dean distinctly remembered thinking nothing of when he passed it by earlier. Jimmy took no notice of Dean, spinning around to aim a shaking gun at the wall of forest he’d just plunged out of, stumbling backwards with each frantic step.

            Dean noticed him though, everything about him. His hair was worse bed head than usual, with at least one leaf stuck in it. He still sported that same day-and-a-half stubble he’d always worn, and his clothes were too damn _normal_ \--a dirty grey coat over a flannel and a t-shirt, with jeans and boots worn from working, probably with Mike. That was all well and good. It was the rest of the picture the set Dean into motion, rushing forward, gun shoved unthinkingly back in his waistband.

            Jimmy had the little girl in one arm. She hung limply with her arms draped around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder. The arm Jimmy had around her wasn’t holding her so much as it was strapped in place, his belt looped around the wrist and fastened to two or three belt loops, and dripping with blood. Jimmy was too pale, his eyes wide and frantic as he finally looked up at Dean rushing toward him. Dean watched him swallow, watched hope drain from his face.

            “Dean.”

            His own name fell on his ears in a voice far too familiar, and Dean almost stopped running for them, almost stopped to take it in, but Jimmy was still talking. Staring at him like his presence wasn’t a relief but a horrible nightmare.

            “Oh god, I thought we’d made it. I thought I saved her,” Jimmy groaned brokenly, his knees giving out on him, toppling him over to kneel on the ground. His gun lowered in defeat and buried his face in the limp girl’s hair. “If you’re here, we have to be dead.”

            “No, god damn it, get up!” Dean protested, pulling harshly at Jimmy’s shoulders as soon as he reached him, trying to drag him back to his feet. “You’re not dead, you bastard. I’m not dead!”

            “Dean?”

            Jimmy’s head lifted, sluggish and wavering. That intense blue gaze he’d become so damn familiar with locked on him, and Dean felt himself swallow down the shock. Jimmy didn’t have a stare like that.

            “Cas?”

            Suddenly, Dean was shoved aside and Cas was raising his gun, that pure panic returning to his eyes. He fired at the thing, which was far more fucking terrifying than Dean’s imagination had led him to believe. Seven feet at least, long boney arms reaching out for Cas, fingers like long claws. Two more arms supported it torso, more muscled but still thin and bending the wrong way, and freakishly long, just like the legs. Its sunken black eyes stared down at Cas, an upside down, horrendous mouth sneering with rows and rows of shark teeth, red with blood. Probably Cas’ blood.

            Cas’ shots hit it, but that only seemed to make it sneer more. It had no regard for Dean at all, and he took advantage of that. He didn’t know what would kill it, but he’d killed enough things to know most of them needed heads to function. With it closing in on Cas, Dean rounded on it and launched himself forward. The blade of his machete connected, but _damn_ , it had tough skin. The first strike only pissed it off. It swept one of its leg-arms wide, knocking him flat, but at least its attention was off Cas.

            The next few minutes were a blur. It tried to pin him down, to succeed in getting its sharp as fuck fingers into his forearm, but he landed another blow to its neck. It made a noise somewhere between a screech and a howl and tried to flee from him, driving its fingers through his shoulder as it shoved him away and turned to retreat. But fuck that. Dean lunged at it again, landing on its freakish back, and wrapping the machete around the front of its throat. It flailed at him, but its arms couldn’t bend to reach. Dean grabbed the back side of the blade with his other hand and pulled, throwing his shoulders back, reigning it in like a wild horse, except this horse’s bit was a blade.

            The spray of black sludge that hit him when its head fell off to the side reminded him far too much of Leviathans. And because of that he wasn’t taking _any_ chances. He wasn’t about to just leave the body to get up and wander off, or whatever these things did when they died. So he looped his belt around its weird, hoofed back feet, then fastened it around a few belt loops, snatching the thing’s head up and dragging the body behind him as he made his way to where Cas was slumped few feet away.

            “I don’t think I can walk any further, Dean…”

            “Yeah, I get that.”

            He hauled Cas to his feet by his good arm and draped it over his shoulders, his own arm wrapping around Cas’ waist to hold him up. “But I got you, Cas. We’re getting out of here--you, me, and the girl. And we’re gonna burn this thing so it can’t come back. So just... hang in there.”

            Cas’ fingers flexed against Dean’s shoulder where his arm was draped, gripping tight to the fabric of Dean’s jacket. “Thank you, Dean.”

            “Save it, Cas.”

            And with that, Dean started to trudge forward, hoping he was right about the direction of the houses. The thing’s body dragged along behind him, slowing him down and getting caught on almost every root, and Cas’ went limp about an hour into the walk. But Dean kept going anyway. There was no fucking way he’d stop now.


	4. Interlude Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Castiel awakes, alone and powerless, he's forced to start a new life in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Every small town has its secrets, and Castiel is left to uncover them alone. At least, that's what he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely thank my friend Maeleene for being the beta for this fic for me. Its my first Supernatural fic, and having her help made the whole process go so much more smoothly than if I was alone. Thank you, Maeleene!
> 
> The monster in this story is based off of a two creepy-pastas. You can read them here:
> 
> http://www.creepypasta.com/stalked/#.UKl8EIYqQmI  
> http://www.creepypasta.com/zasphas/#.UKl8EYYqQmI

**Interlude Two**

  
            _Castiel chased the_ thing _through the woods for so long his legs started to burn and his breath grew so short he began to think he might pass out. Just when he thought he could go no further, it vanished behind a thick wall of brush and leaves and branches. Castiel hesitated. He didn’t want to barge into its lair, if that’s what it was, unprepared. So he took a moment to reload his gun and brace himself for a fight. He didn’t get the chance though._  
 _The_ thing’s _long arms shot out from the brush, grabbing him and dragging him through and he literally came face to inverted face with it. Hollow, black eyes studied him, and he tried to raise his arms in defense, but he couldn’t move. He felt himself go limp, just like he’d seen Annie do, and the creature smiled at him again. He tasted bile in the back of his throat as he lost consciousness._  
 _He awoke to unbearable pain, his eyes flying wide open to face the_ thing _looming over him, running its blade-like fingers over the flesh of his right arm over and over, leaving streaks of blooming crimson. He wanted to pull back, take his arm away and cradle it against his body, but his instincts told him not to move. It watched him for a moment, tilting its upside-down head before a long, reptilian tongue darted out to lick blood off its razor fingers._  
 _Castiel fought to not flinch or move as it raked a finger down his arm again, flaying it open further. Instead, he took in his surroundings. He could see Annie unconscious against the wall across from him. He could not tell if she was breathing, but she did not look hurt. There were others littered around, but they were long since gone, and he tried not to look at them. He spotted his gun, dropped not far from where he lay. One swift lunge and he could reach it. He didn’t know what good it would do, but he didn’t see any other choice._  
 _As it licked its freakish fingers again, he tried to flex the fingers on the arm it was slicing into. No luck. Actually, he couldn’t move it at all. Under all the blood, he wondered just how much damage the monster had done to that arm and if it was reparable. The other arm he could move, though. And luck must have been with him. Someone yelled from outside--maybe his name, maybe not--and the_ thing _looked away from him, toward the exit of the hidden little cave, and Castiel made his move._  
 _He lunged for the gun, wrapping his hand around it just in time to plant it into one of the monster’s empty sockets and pull the trigger. The monster made a noise between a roar and a cry and staggered back, thin freakish arms coming to its face. Castiel stumbled past and it swiped at him, catching his leg and ripping the flesh, but he didn’t slow down. He shouldered into Annie, using his good arm to hoist her in place, then fired another shot at the monster. He hit it in its good eye but didn’t pause to admire his luck. Instead he worked his belt off, using it to latch his limp arm around the girl and hold her in place. He thought she was breathing, so at least there was that._  
 _The monster was between him and the exit, snarling and flailing, slit nostrils flaring. He pressed his back against the cave wall and tried to move as quickly but quietly as possible toward the exit, edging around the_ thing _, trying to stay out of reach._  
 _Almost to the exit, to the thick layer of brush and branches that meant freedom, he made the mistake of looking back. It was watching him, healed or regenerated or whatever, and Castiel felt sick. It knew he didn’t stand a chance. Still, shaking, he raised the gun and backed away from it. And it let him go._  
 _He turned and rushed through the brush, hearing it snap and rustle under his feet. Then, after a moment, he heard it running after him. A head start. It was_ toying _with him. Son of bitch. Still, he ran on. The brush was thicker than he remembered and it took longer to get out than he thought it would, and all the while he could hear it closing in._  
 _It was sweet relief when he burst through the thicket. It was daylight. He knew he couldn’t keep running like this, so he rounded, brought the gun up and braced himself. The world swam before his eyes, blurring and tilting, and he knew he had lost too much blood._  
 _There was a snap of underbrush to his right, and Castiel blinked to clear his vision because what he was seeing had to be a lie. Dean Winchester was_ dead _. But Dean Winchester was rushing toward him,  stumbling over roots and branches, never taking his eyes off Castiel._  
 _“Dean.”_  
            If Dean was here, this had to be... what? Hell? This certainly wasn’t Heaven. But if Dean was here, he had to be dead. And he let his legs go out from under himself, because what was the point of fighting if he was already dead? Maybe it _was making him hallucinate. Maybe it was the blood loss. Either way, there was no getting out. It was hopeless._  
 _He heard himself rambling in a detached sort of way, and Dean telling him he was wrong. He wasn’t dead. Dean wasn’t dead, but that was too good to be true. He heard himself saying Dean’s name again, and Dean was looking at him with those intoxicating green eyes, and he vaguely wondered if he’d ever get to count Dean’s freckles. And then Dean was gone, thrown aside by the_ thing _, too quiet when it wanted to be. God damn it._  
 _Castiel raised the gun, firing the few shots he had left, but it didn’t do any good. It kept coming, reaching greedy claws for him or maybe the girl, and then Dean was there again, slamming his machete into the monster’s neck. Castiel collapsed into the dirt with girl on top of him. He had no energy left to watch the fight, but he could hear it, could ear Dean swear, the monster screech. He prayed Dean was successful, prayed this was even real. He prayed God would listen to him at all._  
 _And then there was Dean, covered in black blood but almost smiling at him. He told Dean he couldn’t walk any more, but Dean took it in stride, pulling him up, pulling him close. And it was like coming home. Being pressed against Dean, hearing Dean reassure him everything would be okay, that he’d get them out--even if it wasn’t true, it was enough. Seeing Dean, touching Dean, one last time was_ enough _. And as he lost consciousness again, he wondered if Dean would find the pie in the freezer without him._


End file.
